


Velvet tunes

by fish_wifey



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Making Love, Music as forplay, Playing hard to get (to play guitar), Romantic Comedy, guitar playing kasamatsu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_wifey/pseuds/fish_wifey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once he knows about Kasamatsu's other hobby beside basketball, Kise is dead-set on making him play the guitar. The story about a boy on a mission, and the sexy ass guitarist boyfriend who refuses his sparkly lover's pleads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Velvet tunes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aphrosCartographer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrosCartographer/gifts).



> I knew I had to write a fic with Kasamatsu playing guitar the second I knew it was his hobby. This story exist for ages, but I finished writing it only recently ;v; I had tons of fun writing Kise on his quest, and even more fun letting Kasamatsu play really sexy tunes uvu I hope whoever reads this will enjoy it~
> 
> And yes Hannah, a gift for you. You're the most wonderful person, and I knew for a while I wanted to gift this work for you, after all the fics you've beta'd for me and the most wonderful time I have talking to you about these two boys!! Thanks for being my friend and my help and my ongoing breakdown companion in all things Kasamatsu.

Ryouta has become used to the daily gatherings at his classroom’s entrance. Some of the girls are just there to look at him, too shy to say a word (he gives them a special, warm smile, eager to please and make them feel just as special). Others come with gifts in form of chocolate (he teases them, saying Valentine’s day isn’t due for a month). When the magazines with his pictures have been freshly published, they surround him and congratulate him, even asking for a few written words. It doesn’t make his lunch break chaotic or bothersome, and Ryouta doesn’t mind them at all. 

Today however, a group of third years, serious and studious senpai arrive. Their leader looks him in the eye, takes his hands, and her voice is grave. She says his name once. Takahashi Ayano, also called Ayami by her classmates, is known to Ryouta. She’s class president, has been known to study for the entrance exams of Kyoto university, and demands utter silence wherever she goes for studying. Ryouta’s dealings with her haven’t been the scolding kind, but she had talked to him once before asking for his contribution in a sports festival their school had. There is a regular school festival just around the corner, and Ayano is part of the planning committee. She’s a strict girl, and the way she looks at him gives Ryouta a foreboding that might concern his well being. It makes Ryouta queasy, but he tries to work up a smile nonetheless. 

“Kise-kun,”she says again. “You are close to Yukio-san, right?” Ayano doesn’t squeeze his hands, but she doesn’t let him go either. Thrown off guard by this personal question, Ryouta’s eyes widen. He’s struck by a silent terror that he and Yukio might have been seen together. It had been at his boyfriend’s request that they kept their relationship a secret. Ryouta didn’t mind to have it known in school that he’s a bisexual with a strong tendency to fall for older boys with a short fuse and strength in their voices, arms and eyebrows. Yukio had worried about Ryouta’s career, and may not be ready to have his affections gossiped about by other people. Ryouta had agreed to play his part in the ‘secret lovers’ act, liking the thrill of it. 

“Ah, uh, w-what do you mean, Takahashi-senpai?” Ryouta plays dumb. His hands are still trapped, and he’s unable to scratch his itching chin.

“The basketball club, Kasamatsu Yukio is the captain. You both play together? Come on Kise-kun, I am a busy woman and I don’t have time to play games!” Ayano blinks her pretty long lashes in rapid succession, silently betraying how nervous she is. Somehow, the air shifts to the core of this matter, and Ryouta relaxes his shoulders. 

“Well, yes if you put it that way, we’re close I think? As close as teammates can get!” He laughs over the bluff, watching Ayano’s tension relief the slightest.

“So I’ve come to the right man to ask this. Kise-kun, please do us a favour.” Behind Ayano, the other six girls echo the request. Ryouta gives them all a glance, seeing determination and hope rising in their small hands and glossed lips. He cannot decline a girl asking for help, and so he nods. 

“What is it? If it’s about Kasamatsu-senpai and his girl-issues, I can assure you-” They didn’t let him finish how it’s impossible to confess to Yukio, while trying to hide his jealousy. It couldn’t be about that anyway, there’s seven of them present! Ayano interrupts him, her tension returning. 

“I’m not here to ask about petty stuff. I’ll have you know that I have a boyfriend in university and we’ve been steady for two years. No, Kise-kun, this is more important than boy-girl stuff. This is a matter of most importance to us third years, and not just those who are standing before you. I’ll have you know that at least fifty girls and some stuttering and cowardly guys in our year are putting our trust and faith in you.” Ayano presses his hands, her grip strong but not painful. All Ryouta can do is blink and hear them out. 

“Yukio-kun has been rebuffing us at every turn, told us no a couple of times, and wouldn’t even accept money.” One girl, the smallest of the group, pipes up, earning nods and mutters from her fellow friends. “He’s been, and there’s no other way to put it, a stubborn bull for at least four years!”

“F-four years!?”

“Yes,” another girl, who Kise knows to be Ayano’s best friend, Hitomi explains. “I went to the same middle school as Yukio-kun. Ever since I knew of his other talent aside basketball, I’ve been vehement in trying to get him to show it to everyone. But he’s either run away or yelled no straight to my face! To all of our faces.” 

The girls nod again, and Ayano centers Ryouta’s growing confusion and curiosity on herself again. “Kise-kun, you are our last hope. You have to talk to Yukio-kun and convince him. We are all sure he won’t be able to say no to a charming young man like you. Plus, you’re the ace. You can blackmail him if necessary. Say you won’t play matches if he does not agree.”

“Blackmail!” Ryouta exclaims, his heart pounding half up his throat by the excitement and curiosity. What on earth would drive this girl to suggest something so harsh? “Agree to what, exactly?” 

Ayano takes a breath, and finally cracks open the mother of all mysteries. “That he plays guitar at the very last school festival of this year, before we all graduate. He has to perform three songs, minimum. Covers or original is no matter to us, but if he is open to suggestion, the third years will gladly present him a top ten list.” She offers with a triumphant smile, as if the plan couldn’t go wrong once it was in Ryouta’s hands. 

All of a sudden, the dam breaks. The girls speak, one after the other. They don’t let Ryouta contemplate or even process the information of the request. Ayano doesn’t give his hands to anyone else, but Ryouta feels the pull of coloured fingernails and slender fingers grip his uniform. These girls are too desperate to even react to right now. 

“You must turn the tides for us, Kise-kun!” 

“Yes, he will listen to you and probably won’t say no if you refuse to play for the team if he doesn’t do this for us. For all of us!”

“No one has ever heard Kasamatsu-kun play, and we even send non-threatening second years girls to ask him!”

“We’ve heard ‘No!’ too many times, Kise-kun.”

“Please, Kise-kun!”

At last, Ryouta is able to free his hands, and he uses one to push his hair back and flash his most confident smile. “Leave it all to me.” The girls light up and thank him, some even with little bows of gratitude. Ayano pats his arms twice, then nods in agreement of him accepting the task. 

“We believe in you, Kise-kun.” Ayano doesn’t say or do anything else, and turns around to leave the first years’ hallway. The girls scatter around her, excitement peaking, as if the task was already done. Most of the first years who haven’t heard what the deal was about continue with their everyday activities, as if the group of girls was just like any other fan club visiting their modelling classmate or class neighbour. 

Ryouta grips his blond hair tightly, exhaling a breath he has been holding the second he said ‘Leave it all to me’. He slumps slightly, ignoring the scolding voice in the back of his head which sounds a lot like his oldest sister, telling him to walk straight and not harm his posture. He cannot straighten up or listen to the tiny voice, and he walks to the nearest window to look out of it, considering what just happened. What secret he had just heard. 

He’s been with Yukio for about four months now. All this time, it had been about basketball, first kisses, first touches, first times in all the most wonderful and hurting ways. There had been pining, real talk, lectures, nighttime whispers and a myriad of new sights and dreams Yukio gave him. Turning all of Ryouta’s daydreams into brilliant realities, while holding hands and laughing, sharing ice creams and gum, sleepovers which sometimes were just that, and sometimes turned into more, heady exchanges that left them speechless. They sweat on the court in playful one-on-one’s, or meet in private, sometimes open areas out in the sun for a whole different kind of one-on-one time.

And during these four months, even up until they shared their first kiss and committed to each other, Ryouta has never once heard of Yukio’s hobby. Nowhere in Yukio’s room had he seen a guitar, a pick, or even a stray string. They listened to music, yes. Yukio liked his Western guitars, alright. But not once was there a mention of Yukio playing, or even a tune being played by him. 

Fire opened in as Ryouta’s determination for getting justice for those four months. Justice for those girls who have asked and waited for years. He would avenge them all, and get his boyfriend to perform at the last festival. Blackmail? Hah, Ryouta had other weapons than denying to play in matches. He had long legs and sexy smiles, and has learned a few things about Yukio’s body. Getting him to agree to three songs? Half an hour minimum, that’s how resolute Ryouta was. He didn’t want the finger, he wanted the whole goddamn arm. 

“Yosh!” he said, right before the bell notifying them all of the end of their lunch break. Ryouta went back inside to find his seat, and started a new daydream during History: Yukio playing the guitar. 

It turned quite sexy in his head. 

*~*~*

Direct confrontation is Ryouta’s first form of attack. Yukio liked direct, no-nonsense approaches, so that’s what he got. 

Most of the guys are done changing and head out for their usual warm up on the court. Yukio hangs back, slow on sliding the compression socks over his calves. He looks pensive, but Ryouta knows him better than that. Sometimes, they would procrastinate dressing for practice and wait until everyone’s gone, just to have a few blissful moments to make out or even just share one little kiss to the cheek or forehead. Today again, such a moment arose. Glad that Yukio often orchestrated such moments for them, Ryouta also thanked the gods that he could not only kiss his boyfriend. but also get him into the right mood, and create the perfect opportunity to have Yukio say yes to anything Ryouta would ask.

It was just too easy. 

Done with tying his laces, Yukio’s face of concentration changes to one of utter sex appeal and good looks, as he tilts his head to the side and looks at Ryouta. He beckons him with a single twitch of his fingers, and Ryouta, only too happy to oblige, walks over and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He bows low, liking the thought of Yukio’s neck stretched out to reach him. A thumb brushes his bottom lip first, pulling it open a little, and then Yukio’s fingers grip his chin tightly and pull Ryouta to his level. When their lips meet, it's a soft enticement of gentle tugs and guessing how far or deep they should go. They keep it simple, only opening their mouths to share the same breath for a single moment. 

“Senpai,” Ryouta’s voice is a hoarse whisper on just kissed lips, who hum a smile across his own mouth. Keeping his back bent, Ryouta sacrifices comfort in order to lay his forehead on top of Yukio’s. The other has his lids closed, still basking in the afterglow of their endearing exchange. When Ryouta builds suspense and doesn’t a say a thing, Yukio groans a huffy laugh. 

“What?” Yukio draws, too sexy to be allowed to speak, too alluring to have Ryouta’s knees not shake. He wants to sit on his lap, hold his bare shoulders, and devour every inch of Yukio, and to be devoured and taken right here in return. The mark him with eight half moon crescents on one side, and a twin print below the collarbone on the other. To pull Yukio’s teeth and draw blood, to anger him the tiniest amount it takes to be lifted and fucked against the metal of the lockers.

Steadying himself with one hand on Yukio’s thigh, Ryouta releases a breath, shaky and telling to Yukio, who doesn’t hold it against him. The vibe feels good, and Ryouta inhales once before speaking. 

“Senpai, would you do everyone a favour and play guitar on the next school festival? It’s your last one here, ne? Play a few songs for us! I’d love to hear-” Ryouta stops his light talk when Yukio’s eyes flash open, and he can feel the scowl edge on his forehead. Pulling away, Ryouta keeps a sunny smile, as if his question was the most normal thing and nothing to get angry over. 

Of course, Yukio can always find something to get furious about. But Ryouta won’t let him, not this time. He’ll pay for his one time show of disrespect another day, perhaps. 

“Now don’t start yelling. You play guitar, yes? I had to hear that from the third year girls who came to me, begging! I’m quite upset I didn’t know this, that you never told me before. You could have at least surprised me and serenaded to me, Yukio-senpai!” Ryouta was upset, more than he actually knew. He had told Yukio so many things, tiny details, little nothings. And something as big and as cool as being able to play an instrument had been hidden from him! 

“No.”

“W-what?”

“I said ‘no’, as in, I’m not going to play.” The good mood they had kissed themselves into evaporates as if it never had existed. Yukio sighs when he stands up, grabbing his manhood through his sweatpants, and rearranges himself, groaning. “It's so stupid anyway, I don’t know why these people can’t give up or accept a freaking ‘no’ for an answer.” 

Heading to the door, Yukio looks over his shoulder to where Ryouta still stands, the latter dumbstruck at the rebuttal. “You coming, Kise?” 

Not waiting for an answer, Yukio disappears out of the door, and Ryouta, brain working in furious attempts to understand where he went wrong, and why Yukio is such a stubborn man, gets his ass in gear and chases after Yukio. He doesn’t dare to grab his arm when he caught up to him, but doesn’t keep his distance, either. Leaning in with his chest to Yukio’s shoulder, and ignoring the moans of ‘too fucking close!’, he repeats his outburst from earlier.

“Why are you unyielding about this, senpai!?” 

“Keep your freaking voice down when you’re standing so close.” Yukio rebukes, hands in his pockets and walking on as if Ryouta isn’t the most persistent and aggravating little shit. “It’s simple. I do not wish to play in front of a bunch of people. It’s my choice and I stand by it.”

“...Are you perhaps shy, senpai?” Ryouta’s facial features and voice soften, not meaning to tease. He receives a fist to the chest still. 

“I’m not! It’s a principle. And this is also the last I want to hear about this.” The sounds of basketballs hitting the floors reach their ears as they arrive at the end of the hall leading to the gymnasium. Yukio pulls his sweatband at the wrist to above his elbow, then yells at the team to keep the pace up and not be too sloppy with the passes. At the end of his rope, Ryouta tries clutching at Yukio’s arm, attempting to force the other to at least face him. 

“But-”

“No, Kise.” Yukio rounds on him, his shoulders forward and eyes piercing Ryouta’s. His face as close as when they’re about to kiss, lacking the warmth of the action. “Now drop it or take a lap around the school. Your choice.”

Yukio doesn’t wait for an answer, entering the court and clapping his hands for a good play he saw. Standing at the sidelines and watching Yukio build up a wall around himself isn’t the most pleasant thing for Ryouta to witness, but it doesn’t get him down either. Huffing a breath and taking a run to warm up, he’s never felt so determined and heated up in his life. Even when Yukio looks at him to make sure they’re still good, Ryouta cannot dim the fire in his own eyes, and the determination to hear this man play music. 

*~*~* 

They have a water break, but Ryouta is too busy finding help in his teammates for the righteous cause. He feels that if he can rope his senpai into the plans of confronting Yukio, he’d be easier to break and say yes. Sadly, no one seems up for the task. Nakamura waves him off in an instant, saying that so many people have tried and failed. Moriyama tries to reassure Ryouta that it’s nothing personal, but that’s just how things are with Yukio. 

For a second, Ryouta feels that he might be fighting a lost cause, when Hayakawa pipes up in half-understandable Japanese, that yes, maybe it’s time to push their captain a little and have him showcase his other talents. The dream of having an accomplice within the team lightens up for just a hot minute. Before they can shake hands and think up a plan, Hayakawa is hit by a basketball in the back of his head, and Ryouta has to duck for the next one aimed at his face.

“Not my face, senpai! I’m a model, okay, a model! You cannot injure my face, I need it for a shoot-”

“You and your face can fuck right off if you don’t stop this nonsense, Kise.” Yukio doesn’t smile, which is even worse than being treated so harshly. Every so often, when no one would look, Yukio’s harsh words and actions would be followed by a soft and private smile, one that holds secrets only known to Ryouta. Right now, no one is looking. No one is in the mood of having Yukio’s wrath turned to them. Hayakawa is recovering by putting his hands on the back of his head, and Ryouta frowns at Yukio, whose head tilts to the exit. “Now take that lap.”

“What, no, wait a second-” Ryouta jumps up, the unfairness of it all making his chest hurt. Hand holding his shirt, he walks up to Yukio, this time keeping a proper ace-to-captain distance. 

“Shut up and go. I told you to drop this matter, or run a lap.” Not blinking, Yukio bypasses Ryouta and walks up to Hayakawa, dropping another basketball at his feet and telling him to teach the first years proper aggressive rebounds. Pouting, Ryouta drops the towel from his neck and flings it to the floor, stepping out to cool off and forget for a moment that Yukio is the most stingiest, thorniest, prickliest man in existence. 

This calls for drastic measures, in private. 

*~*~*

Ryouta’s fingers burn with the aftermath of trying to deal with this one on one, boyfriend and boyfriend. Trying to put his hands down Yukio’s ass, pull him close, and whisper sweet stuff into his ear, had earned him three more bruises, an angry earful, and a prohibitions to be near Yukio anytime soon. 

_At least his ass was worth it…_ The thought runs through Ryouta’s mind, as he skips from the sidewalk into an alley, his head poking around the corner. A secret agent (aka a girl who had a crush on Yukio and had followed him once before), confessed to Ryouta about knowing -yet another thing Ryouta had no clue off- that Yukio does volunteer work on weekends in his hometown, teaching little children how to play guitar. After he disregarded the girl as no competition, playing dress up with his sisters, and thinking himself a detective, Ryouta ends up following Yukio. 

From his house to the place where he gives lessons is only a small walk through a semi-crowded area, in which Ryouta deploys the swiftness of drives and any kind of maneuver he has learned from a sport to bypass people, hide behind lamp posts, and be invisible to Yukio’s all-seeing eye.

After Yukio went into a shop, Ryouta pauses. He has to be crafty here. If his boyfriend finds out what he’s doing, there would be even worse consequences than the one he’s already living through. As casually as possible, he walks by what turns out to be a place for all sorts of musical instruments, and finds a little window on the far left side. It needs washing, but it helps keep him unseen from those on the inside Here, on the ground floor, a group of children are sitting in a circle, each with a guitar. They’re all children’s guitars, and one of the taller kids has an adult one. Yukio’s back isn’t fully turned to the seedy window, but he’s too focused on the children to feel his personal menace staring at his neck. 

Lost in the moment, Ryouta watches him, how gentle fingers place a girl’s hands on the neck of a electric guitar. His fingers make a movement in the air, while the girl is watching intently, then imitates the movement too. Yukio’s smile is still one of the most wonderful and beautiful sights Ryouta has ever seen, and he doesn’t mind it a single bit that it is directed to a little girl, who even receives a small pat on her cute little head. 

It’s way too early to have thoughts like this, but in this very moment, Ryouta wouldn’t mind staying with Yukio, as long as it would need to maybe adopt-

“Hey, what’s this punk doin’ over here?” A woman in her twenties, with arms inked from fingers to shoulders, and a smoke hanging from her full red lips, stands in the doorway, giving Ryouta a nasty look. Her hair is all dark brown curls, a red bandana tied over her pony and knotted in the back of her neck. She doesn’t look all too happy. As his thoughts are disrupted by a watchful shop lady, Ryouta uses all his charm to say he was just interested in lessons for his own little sister (which he doesn’t have). The hard rock woman appeased, he stands off and away from the music shop. 

He’s thankful for a café nearby, where he can get hot tea while he waits for the lesson to finish. After a while, a group of children run out of the music shop, waving and smiling at their ‘Yukio-sensei’, who comes out last, a warm smile reserved for them to be seen off. Careful, Ryouta announces his presence, and kisses Yukio on the cheek. The surprise nearly gives him a black eye, but he dodges (‘Not the face!’) and holds his half empty cup of tea out for Yukio to take. The offering sits well with the punch-ready demon, who takes the papercup, huffing at Ryouta’s stubbornness. 

“You’ve never heard of the term ‘giving up’, huh, Kise? Guess I gotta be glad for it.” Allowing Ryouta to stay, Yukio continues on his homewards walk. 

“Can you at least explain to me why you’re so against it?” Glad that Yukio is taking grateful sips of the tea, Ryouta ducks low to his eye level to talk to him. Blonde brows furrowed and full of concern, he hopes that his earnest looks can bore through Yukio’s stone cold defenses. It seems to help; although Yukio glances at him for just a second, he also sighs, and then replies. 

“It’s something private, alright?”

“But you teach kids! Are you secretly getting paid, senpai? ”

“I’m not playing _for_ them, idiot. It's a whole different thing.” Yukio shakes his head, then throws the empty paper cup into the next trashcan he sees. Looking at Ryouta, he grins. “Anyway, you wouldn’t be able to afford me.” 

Ryouta, aghast, a hand across his heart, takes a few steps back, and then swallows the small outburst he’d be able to raise on the streets. 

“Afford you!? They are kids! I’m a model! I have a job that pays me well- Ah!” Ryouta’s frustration at the tease he walked straight into doesn’t last long enough, as Yukio’s features change into captain ‘telling you to shut it’ Kasamatsu. 

“Then how about ‘model’ Kise organizing a catwalk show, hm?” Yukio lifts his upper arms and hands to chest level, impersonates a model walking the runway, his mouth in a pout. At least he tries; in Ryouta’s expert eyes, it looks more like a failed experiment on a Tyrannosaurus Rex, who acts out a comedic duck perfomance. Faltering at his trade being made fun off, Ryouta shakes his head, trying to unsee Yukio’s ass wagging before him. He could, if he wanted to, show Yukio how a proper model walks (not that Ryouta ever had an invitation to run a show. But he’s watched enough Chanel male models on the online streams during fashion weeks all across the globe. He knows his shit).

Once Yukio grows tired of his not-so-funny interlude only he (and a group of office ladies across the street) find funny, Ryouta puts his hands on his hips. The Pavlov effect of having seen captain Kasamatsu do this so many times inspired him.

“How about we play for it, mhn? Five baskets to win?” He challenges his boyfriend to an one on one, in the hope after he won, at least Yukio will play once. 

“I’ve never won against you before, why would I-” Yukio counters, but the ‘I’d be defeated anyway’ doesn’t sit well with him. Ryouta sees it in more than the sudden silence, or the fiery eyes. There’s resignation in Yukio’s slumped shoulders, and at last, finally, the heaven’s open for a piece of sunlight on Ryouta’s path, and Yukio gives in. 

“Okay, I’ll come to your place tonight. I have to get my guitar from home first.” 

In the clouds and forgetting still that they’re in a public place, Ryouta’s happiness makes him push himself face first into Yukio’s hair and head, while his face is being pushed away and an angry ‘not here!’ hisses behind a set of arms. 

*~*~* 

It feels weirder than their first time. Yukio enters his own room like a stranger, first looks around it with a heavy heart. He finds the backpack-like guitar case his parents gave him for his birthday a few years ago, and checks it for the only thing he needs to bring to Ryouta’s. The picks are there, the thin red ones he likes best. Holding them in his palm, he smiles, a nervous one he’s glad that Ryouta cannot witness right now. He puts them in the forefront zipper, then hauls his acoustic guitar from its stand in the corner. Not the electric one. There’s no way he’d get all the equipment for it to Ryouta’s house, nor get his parents or the neighbours to agree to go full on at this hour. 

‘The acoustic is what will get you all the girls, Yukio’, his father had said to him when he was 12 years old and wanted to learn an instrument. Yukio never played it for ‘the girls’, not only because he felt weird and vulnerable around them. From the first touch, he fell in love with the strings and the rigorous practice you had to put into learning. The bleeding fingers and other difficulties in his back came as a reward. 

Blinking, Yukio looks over to his bedside table, second drawer. Biting his lip, he then crouches in front of it, pulls out a tube and a pack of condoms, and pushes them into the forefront zipper of his case. Shaking his head with yet another nervous laugh, he disembarks to Ryouta’s place, hoping the nerves will quiet the hell down before he reaches him. 

He feels like a little school boy with the large case on his back, but it takes no time to get to the front door of the Kise household. Ryouta himself greets him, a strange twinkle in his eyes and an all too eager personality that shines too brightly for this hour of the evening. 

Yukio has swayed at last, and now bears the consequence of his soon-to-be actions. He doesn’t listen to Ryouta, a weird fever taking over. It’s not stage-fright, he knows for one. It’s something else that has all to do with the workings of music and the effect is can have on other people. Without seeing where his feet go, he follows Ryouta up the stairs and into his room. Somewhere far off, he hears Ryouta call out to his mom, then brings orange juice up and closes the door. Yukio busies himself unpacking, leaving the extras in the case for now. 

When he turns around with his acoustic guitar, Ryouta puts cushions for them on the floor, close by. Brows furrowed in an infinite scowl, Yukio leaves the strap in the case too, sitting himself down cross legged and with his guitar on his lap. He kicks Ryouta, whose moving too much back and fro. 

“Sit still damnit. I need to concentrate.” The command extends itself naturally, so Ryouta also shuts up as he sits rigid and awaiting. Yukio puts the plectrum between his lips, strums his nails over the steel strings, just to check if it needs tuning. It doesn’t, and without giving Ryouta a single glance to fuss over, Yukio takes the pic between his fingers, and starts playing. 

It’s been awhile since last he played it, but his fingers remember what to do. Yukio knows the lyrics to the Western song too, but feels way too shy and incompetent to sing it. For now, he keeps it at the flow from the strings, a repeat of soft, velvety tones. Losing himself in it, Yukio shakes his head to the depth of it, humming along. Just like the title of the song, he feels how Ryouta is coming closer. By no means he’d think this is a love song, but since the first time he heard it, it’s too sexy, the feel of it unable to be connected to anything else. 

He likes to play this song from Kings of Leon; he chose it because he believes it to be really seducing. Yukio forgets himself and that he’s bearing a part of his sinful soul, how he likes Ryouta this way, and that he still has troubles voicing that want these days. Somehow, the music says it stronger than his own words could. 

Around 'showing no mercy, I'd do it again', he starts humming the English words more audible, although he hardly speaks it. He knows the meaning, somewhat, envisions Kise and him, in all the ways he came to like and desire. 

When Yukio is in 'this' world, his fingers are one with the fret-board and the strings, the plain wood that doesn't mold, which he has to conquer and tickle out the tunes he wishes to hear. Here, he doesn't apply logic or strategy; it goes on instinct play, which doesn't seem to end. When Yukio opens his eyes, they are on his fingers and the steel strings, the pic and his crossed legs; but he doesn't actually see anything apart from his own self. That's how he doesn't hear the shuffling of clothes, and that’s how he misses the subdued warning of danger coming closer. 

When he enters the last stage of the song, the foggy part where he returns to the world of the living, it's already too late. Ryouta hovers over his legs, the gifted hands on Yukio’s knees. The listener doesn’t even touch the guitar when he lets their lips meet, while Yukio strums out the last ring of the song, a misfortune'd miss that sounds strange but particularly fitting. His temper cannot even rise, as it is held down by a warmth inside his chest. Golden eyes kill the fire too, rekindling a different one from the ashes. Yukio watches him, eyes half-lidded, feeling something stir below his guitar when Ryouta’s nails scratch on his jeans. They voice a searching hunger Yukio hadn’t come across before. 

The first kiss is a quick thing on the lips, a brush that asks for more. Yukio lets him, as much as he always would let Ryouta take initiative in these situations. He even allows him to take the guitar away and be put to the side. Without an obstacle and every reason to continue his seduction, Yukio lets the lure play both ways. He inches away, enough for the ever impatient Ryouta to follow. There’s a noise from the back of the copycat’s throat voicing his unhappiness of Yukio evading him. 

It’s not like he cannot help the situation move forward like this. 

A grin as filthy as their thoughts appears on Ryouta’s face, and he slides himself over Yukio’s not so occupied lap. Despite himself, despite his heart racing out of rhythm and a heat rising from his chest to his face, Yukio smiles when nimble fingers go through his hair. They grab stands of it, in the hopes to make Yukio stop moving away. The second kiss comes with a slow tongue sliding between one corner of the mouth to the other, wetting it up before slipping in. It might have been that Yukio uttered the word 'Ryouta' a second before they started, but neither of the two would be able to tell afterwards. 

Heat spreads from one moving body part to the other, a silent quest of asking permission and a wanton need to be held. Yukio grants both, and his arms stop behaving like they’re dead weight. He roams his hands over Ryouta’s back, then holds him near above the waist. It’s a sort of grounding he needs before he starts kissing back the way he knows gives Ryouta weak and trembling legs. The fingers in his hair grip harshly, a moan unfolding within his mouth when their tongues move a tad faster. 

Ryouta’s impatience shows, his tongue wilder, trying to twist itself deeper into Yukio’s mouth, while his hips grind near aggressive need into Yukio’s lap. The latter smiles, even if he feels overwhelmed by the sexual prowess sitting on top of him. It goes as far that he's unable to hold back and just fall back, taking Ryouta down with him.

They lie down, Ryouta tilting his head to the side and deepening their little lip-locking, moaning and moving way too horny atop of Yukio. Pulling up his knees, Yukio finds the need to ground his feet on Ryouta’s floor and find grounding. Not that it helps much, when his walls buckle under the sheer erotic weight atop. Hips move in slow, measured circles, which tighten Yukio’s jeans. Ryouta slides a hand beneath his shoulder, goes down again to put a thumb beneath the shirt and let it ride up, exposing the skin he needs to touch. The answer comes in kind, when Yukio slings his arm across Ryouta’s back, placing his hand in the warm neck.

Ryouta stops for a moment, breathing heavily, as he stares down Yukio’s eyes with a hard, unyielding expectancy. Unblinking, not saying a word, Yukio waits for him to speak his mind. 

"Don't play that song on the festival." The faintest hint of concerned jealously is dripping down in barely there tones, making Yukio smile despite wanting to hit the other for having decided on his own he'd definitely play. "Please, promise me." 

Yukio gathers that the half-shaking mess above him finally understands one of the deeper meanings music can have, that it can be a destroying force. It actually became heavier than even Yukio could have anticipated, or even dreamed off, despite the fact that he brought some stuff from his bedside table all the way here. 

Ryouta has been a menace all week long, but those earnest eyes and sad face had brought Yukio down at last. In the literal sense, as he’s lying on his back. He grins, not caring where that sudden confidence comes from. It’s probably a blend of the music he played and successfully got him entwined with the most handsome man on their school, the actual monster now on hands and knees atop of him, pleading looks and hot lips.

“First you want me to play, and now you're creating a condition on what I should play?"

"Yes." Ryouta is serious, his usual battle face reserved for the court appearing and hardening his features. Yukio wouldn't be the team's captain if he was scared this easily though. He doesn’t let his dirty grin falter, while his fingertips ease the monster lying on top of him with gentle circles. 

"What if I don't...?"

"I'll leave now." It's an empty threat and Yukio shows that he knows as much when he keeps staring at Ryouta, practically waiting for him to get up and leave in this state. . 

"You wouldn't, not like this." It's more than a bluff he calls on than actually knowing what Ryouta would do. He hopes he falls for it and isn't able to get those wobbly legs into movement. Still, Yukio is strained too, his lower body yelling for less talking and a continuation of before. He yields to the pouty lips and second-guessing eyes. "Have it your way; I won't. I promise to play something else entirely."

"Show me your songs and I choose what is appropriate for the audience." Ryouta underlines the word ‘appropriate’ by rolling his hips, earning a groan from Yukio, who is unable to suppress any baser sounds. 

Yukio hides his eyes and his second smile beneath his arms, the strain of having Ryouta on top becoming too much for his poor body. "Yeah, whatever."

As he folds to Ryouta’s wishes, there comes a need to turn the tables and have some upper hand in the following part. Yukio doesn’t have to use much strength to roll them over and come atop of Ryouta, and the other undresses easily when Yukio’s fingers slide under the fabrics. They’ve come to accustomed to it that undressing takes no time at all, as they help each other remove piece after piece of clothing.

Thinking of it just in time, Yukio reaches for the forefront zipper, opens it, and pulls the items out under whistling tune from behind. Not really looking at Ryouta (and ignoring the fact his face is burning up), he shuts the younger one up why capturing the soft backsides of the knees, pushing the long, long legs towards and Yukio’s shoulders. Ryouta folds, his fingers moving to Yukio’s face, a cheeky grin directed to the guitar case. The look he gets in reply is stern, while Yukio holds the legs apart and spread. 

“You came so prepared, Yukio-senpai. Did you just know that I’d get horny, or did you hope for it..?”

“Shut up, Ryouta.” He grunts it out as he puts lube on his fingers, and spreads a copious amount of it straight on Ryouta’s asshole, then pushes two fingers in at once. Only when he hears the cry out of enjoyed pain does Yukio look up to the warm face, the eyes closing and the lips grinding together as the sudden entering turns to pleasure. Ryouta keeps his eyes closed as he relaxes under the touch, and waits for Yukio to lube himself up too. 

Yukio rams himself in hard, holds back his moans as Ryouta’s increase in frequency and intensity. When Ryouta opens his eyes, smile twisting into an evil little grin, Yukio clenches his eyes shut when Ryouta’s ass clenches all around him. He groans his first name, the same way he would say ‘Kise’, as if he’s angry with him as if they’re back at practice. It shouldn’t turn Ryouta on, it shouldn’t make his legs pull Yukio in, or ask him to fuck him faster. Yukio tenses up all over, as he watches Ryouta’s body twist beneath him, and he flexes his biceps with the strain of keeping himself hovering over Ryouta. Forgetting about technique or circling his lower self into Ryouta’s hot entrance, Yukio simply slams skin to skin when he takes him harder.

“Ryou- ta-” He stills, the growling ‘r’ still so prominent as when he grits his teeth, but the breathy ending finishes Ryouta off right there. Yukio’s eyes are hazy, yet their sole focus are to the boy down below, whose hands do not tremble as they sling around the warm neck, pulling Yukio down for a whisper.

“Please- Yukio, please,” he pleads, eyes closed, gasping at Yukio’s snapping thrusts when they become more intense

“Ryouta…” He says his name, over and over again, hand below Ryouta’s head, caressing him, holding him, loving him, kissing his forehead and nose, any place he reaches. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He moans into Ryouta’s ear, making him bend double when he pushes his upper body, including Ryouta’s legs, down to ram himself in deeper. Tiny drops of tears well up in Ryouta’s eyes, his body oversensitive, his soul attacked now as well. His fingers rummage through the thick, unruly hair, gaining Yukio’s attention.

“Yukio. Hey, you’re so close, ne? Wanna come inside?” Ryouta smiles, so full of love, his mouth open when Yukio bends down to kiss him. Neither lips or tongue have a clue of what they’re doing, but it’s hot and slick, the same pace as Yukio’s cock sliding in and out of Ryouta. Yukio only stops, mouth still open and brushing Ryouta’s, a mute gasp spilling when he comes. He shifts upwards, back arching, making it hard for Ryouta’s hands to reach this high. But he likes it, how long fingers slide of his throat, touching his Adam’s apple, caressing the stark collar bone. They wound up at the shoulders, a soft press notifying enough as to not to use words. To make Yukio look down on him, face soft and stained, impressed. One hand takes Ryouta’s, kissing the back of a few fingers. While sliding out, Yukio releases the other leg from his grip, letting the second one slide off his shoulder and arm, to the floor where they lay lifeless.

“Any preferences?”

Ryouta shakes his head, cock throbbing, glad when Yukio takes it in his hand. The handjob is slow-paced, to let them both calm. Yukio shifts away, leveling himself in front of Ryouta’s ass, where he puts both his hands to spread him open. The tongue slides in easy, lips closing off the ring, nose brushing and inhaling. Every limb of Ryouta’s becomes jelly, unable to even speak during the sensation. 

“Senpai… don’t make me wait too long.” 

Yukio huffs a laugh, licks the hole again, then crawls forward, his tongue lazy as it slides up Ryouta’s entire length. The latter blushes, hand on his forehead, while teeth bite down on his bottom lip. 

“I just asked you…” As Yukio speaks, not finishing his sentence, his fingers slide inside, appreciating the walls closing in around his knuckles. Ryouta closes his eyes, letting the feel of fingers guide him to the brink. He has begged enough to have Yukio realize that he can’t do anymore than just writhe in wanton. He’s not let down, the two fingers scissoring him open, Yukio’s breath on Ryouta’s skin when he leans in to kiss the chest. He fingers him harder, deeper, an easy task after the rough fuck he’d given him.

Fingers brush over a peculiar spot once, before they abuse the power to reach it to drive Ryouta wild and vocal once more. Yukio has to hold his arm down, kiss the throat, breathing out his words of love and affection. Ryouta’s eyes open when he feels the lips on his mouth again, a mistake when Yukio smiles and whispers into his ears instead.

“You wanna come?”

“Y-Yes.” 

“You like this, don’t you?” Yukio’s fingers, in all the way, don’t slow down while he talks to Ryouta. All the latter can do is try and move his hips, get more friction out of it, make it go faster. It’s to no avail, when Yukio is being sadistic, dominant when he wants Ryouta to come on his terms. “So eager.” 

Ryouta’s earlobes are sensitive on any given day, but during sex, and with those whispers for dirty foreplay, he can only cry out when Yukio licks the lobe, plays it with his teeth, sucking it in between lips and humming in pleasure. Ryouta’s hand, attached to the arm not pinned down, reaches to Yukio’s hair, grabbing a fist-full of it without any resemblance of care. Being pulled down by force, Yukio lets Ryouta’s tongue flick across his lips, bite down however hard he wishes. The smile is more than worth it, when beneath it stretches a body open and warm, no shame to be detected.

“You want me to come, don’t you, Yukio? You want me to scream your name- or better yet! Being unable to even say a word at all. C’mon-” Ryouta tilts his head, chin to his shoulder, the image of submissive beauty demanding. “C’mon, just a little harder…” 

Yukio grins, tired of being played with this practiced ease, a vein appearing in his forehead. All the same, Ryouta likes to tease him, loves it when he gets mad at him. It always turns out well for the latter, which is another scorn for Yukio. Even then, he’s not a hard-ass who’d deny his lover what he deserves. The fingers move as fast as requested. Yukio kisses him, the slow precision he showed at Ryouta’s ears. He then kisses the forehead, blonde hair and sweat on his lips. Mouth moves downwards, kissing the chin, throat, heaving chest, and invisible blonde happy trail. 

One hand at the base, he doesn’t look at Ryouta, but at his abs when the lips close over the cock’s head, sliding down, eyelashes fluttering close. Ryouta’s breath hitches when the lips touch the hand holding his cock, then again when it moves flat to hold him down, mouth going all the way. It’s slow for the start, but Yukio picks up the pace in his own sweet time, humming along the vein he licks eagerly when he goes down faster and faster. With both his dick and asshole being given all the attention they could receive, it doesn’t take long for Ryouta. Every so often, Yukio likes getting his hair pulled, and he doesn’t groan in annoyance when Ryouta’s fingers grab his rough strands once again. Ryouta’s not pushing him, only needs to hold on to Yukio.

The cry out goes simultaneously with the come in Yukio’s mouth, which he has troubles taking in. He’s not as good at this as Ryouta, but he tries to please his boyfriend still, trying not to gag or make any disgusted sounds. Things go well and he swallows as much as he can, letting the rest run down Ryouta’s cock. Looking up, he’s annoyed when Ryouta’s too tired to even look back. He hits his side, and has half a mind of biting him when a weak hand waves. 

“I need a moment, senpai. I have to recover…” The voice is so weak, Yukio allows himself an imaginary shoulder pat. He slides away to clean up their messes, then lifts Ryouta off the floor to place him into his own bed. Ryouta, having at least a bit of strength left in his arms, pulls Yukio with him. 

They lie together, kissing, too lazy to cover their naked asses. Whenever Yukio makes an attempt to get up, Ryouta holds him tighter, takes his hands, deepens their kiss. It’s hard to say, but Yukio has to go. It’s in the middle of the week, and ‘just helping your son studying’, doesn’t work every time. “But I don’t want you to go…” Ryouta’s pout is hard to ignore or to say no too, but Yukio has to be stern with himself more now than ever, and kisses his forehead one last time. 

At least Ryouta puts on some clothes to see him out. Yukio doesn’t tell him that his shirt is on inside-out, or that he forgets to zip up his pants, as he his busy fastening the guitar case on his back. He lets Ryouta, disheveled and thoroughly fucked, all wobbly legs and lazy smiles, lead him down the stairs and to the door like that. While the cicadas chirps nearby, and the light in the porch is dim, they kiss, Ryouta going full out with his arms around Yukio’s neck and his lips brushing his. 

“Play something cool on the festival, mhn? And keep the erotic sounding tunes for my ears only.” 

“Tch, whatever, Kise.” Yukio bites the full bottom lip and pulls it, smiling a ‘good night’ on those warm lips. It’s damn hard denying Ryouta anything, after all.

*~*~*

There’s this good thing about getting what you want. It’s a satisfactory feeling, giving you an aura of accomplishment and perseverance. Having someone pat your back and tell you ‘well done!’ comes as an uplifting perk. Ryouta felt glad to have made so many girls happy (which is something he’s quite good at). For a whole while, he stood a bit off the group centering close to the stage, admiring the work the third year senpai have put into it. 

The smile faded when the girls started screaming though. The downside of getting what you want, came in form of the unexpected. Having a bunch of girls smiling one moment, and then watch them turn into a crazy horde of fangirls, was definitely not something Ryouta had thought about happening. In fact, he was used to having hordes surrounding himself. It was an entire different matter once the same girls (and an alarming large fraction of the boys), starting cheering for Yukio. Ryouta didn’t dream it; there was an inappropriate gleam coming from those people!

He had to focus on Yukio, who had strapped on his electric guitar, and had gathered a few people Ryouta didn’t know to play some covers as a band. Focusing too much on Yukio, and what it took to get him up there, had Ryouta running around looking for water though. His arm was taken in a harsh hold as he walked behind the crowd, and Ayano’s grip is made of iron, as she gives Ryouta a frantic look. Her usual perfectly styled hair looks like a bird’s nest, her cheeks display the crescent moon shape of her nails, and she blinks quickly at Ryouta, as if he’s a ghost.

“Thank you, Kise-kun. _Thank you_.” She releases him, turns back to watch Yukio, and screams as loud as the rest of her brigade when the fretting turns faster and faster, 

Back on his way, the amount of people watching and even dancing to the music had increased. Ryouta saw that most of them came from his own basketball club, and he took the thumbs up and wink from Moriyama, as well as the energetic nonsense from Hayakawa, with an indulgent grin. He didn’t mind _them_ looking at Yukio, and they all three watched (Moriyama with a bit of jealously), how a girl from the second year asked Koboro to dance. 

Yukio’s 5 minutes of fame extended an entire 20 minutes, and after 4 cover songs, they were shut down by the principle. In a daring move, Yukio raised his guitar above his head, strap hanging behind him, and the crowd grew wild. Ryouta didn’t mind though. He watched him walk off stage, and got all sorts of dirty thoughts requiring roleplay, a rock star, and a groupie


End file.
